


One Good Reason

by mee4ever



Series: There's a Difference [2]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Dubious Morality, Epilogue, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), POV Newt (Maze Runner), and a little bit of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: What does time matter in the grand scheme of things? He is here.Minhois fucking here, in Scotland, in Newt’s hometown, in the place Newt is going to work,here.Or the ten-years-later, happy-ending epilogue to an epic love story that wasn’t meant to end well.





	One Good Reason

**Author's Note:**

> The awaited epilogue is here. The last chapter of the original story was completed in July 2016 and this fic has been in the making since the middle of December the same year so that I've managed to write and finish it at all is just an extreme accomplishment in itself. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I've been heavily influenced by [Lady Gaga's Million Reasons.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=en2D_5TzXCA)
> 
> (Not beta read)

_"When there's blood in the sky—red and blue = purple..._ _Purple rain pertains to the end of the world and being with the one you love and letting your faith guide you through the purple rain."_

_-Prince_

 

It’s been too long. He realises when he sees the first crook of the mainland through the airplane window. The browns, the greens; Britain, Scotland, _home_. He has not gone back since he joined the NYPD, but now, when that part of his life is officially over, he cannot fathom the fact that he not once let the two collide. Just… a vacation, a week, but no; Newt had worked on the force, not holidayed from it.

His resignation had been blunt. In the middle of yet another sleepless night, he’d called up Alby (and why Alby had answered, Newt still wonders about) and told him it was time.

“Time for what, Greenie?”

“To move on.”

Newt had left a couple of months after that, after tying up loose ends, after finishing his last few cases, after debating endless nights whether this was the right decision or not. He would come to his senses come morning, that he was not cut for a longer life around murders. He’d given, _devoted_ , fifteen years of his life to it, he didn’t think he was in any way obliged to give them more. Now, seeing the island again, he wishes he would’ve given a few of them here instead.

The new job isn’t even his yet. There have been two interviews over Skype, but they agreed to have another on site, once Newt had settled. What he _does_ have is an apartment and enough savings to last him well over a year, should this not work out. It’s confidence heightening, knowing he doesn’t _need_ the job, but he still _wants_ it. It’s a social worker position, one he believes will fit him well because, hopefully, no one will hand him a file and inside will be pictures of dead kids. At least not literally.

Duncan meets up with Newt outside the facilities. He would be Newt’s boss if this turns out the way they both seem to want it to. Apparently, it hasn’t been very easy to find anyone for the job, but Duncan also makes sure Newt knows that they can’t just hire someone just to have hired someone. The job includes a lot of responsibility, and it cannot be taken lightly. Duncan is an easy-going man, though. He doesn’t have his papers in order, he loses his glasses, but he’s pleasant, he has a warm smile, and Newt thinks that despite being a bit scatterbrained, he really does love his job and the kids he’s working with.

The interview is brief, stating things they’ve already covered and Newt believes this is more to get a feeling of how Newt is as a person rather than his qualifications. Duncan laughs at some of Newt’s jokes (how did he not remember that Scotsmen laughed at things Americans didn’t?) and it feels like Newt might like it here.

There’s a tour of the place. It’s no NYPD but it’s not small either. When they reach the reception again, Duncan says he would like Newt to start tomorrow. Newt laughs, surprised but he nods and says that he would like that too. There’s no one in the reception, despite the fact that there should be someone, and Duncan has to dive into a couple of drawers himself to find papers for them. Newt looks around and the place feels… calm. Maybe it’s just there is no sound of cars reaching in through the windows, maybe it’s the air, maybe it’s the fact that he knows that in this place he’ll make a difference too, but a one for the living rather than the dead.

A door opens. Newt looks up. And there, in the midst of a new life that Newt hasn’t even started yet, stands the one man who has had the power to shift his world in a million unexpected ways.

It’s been ages, but neither of them has yet to grown _old._ Older, indeed, but comfortably so, and Newt doesn’t know what to do, how to act, where to look, so he stands where he is, stares and forgets everything else.

He looks like a man with a life, Newt notes in his shocked state, a man with a purpose and Newt be damned if he doesn’t look _good._

“Hey! Sung! Gimme a hand, will ya?”

There’s apparently other people in the world than the two of them and it seems they both realise that as a woman from the center comes through the door too, with a large piece of furniture she needs help moving. He gives Newt a final look before handling the large desk and he leaves through another door with the woman shouting directions. Newt feels like the air has gone out of him, he might be shaking but he doesn’t know how to look down, he stares a hole in the door, and his only wish is that he could’ve heard his voice, that he would’ve said _something_.

Newt is surprised that his own voice even holds enough to reach his guide's ears as he whispers, “Who was that?”

Duncan looks up from his papers and towards where he had just left. “Who? Sung? He’s our trauma counselor.”

Swallowing, Newt asks, “He from here?”

“Nah, American that one. Came here, what? Two years ago? Maybe more, I don’t remember…”

But Newt zones him out. It doesn’t matter. Two years, eight years, three months; what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? He is here. _Minho_ is fucking here, in Scotland, in Newt’s hometown, in the place Newt is going to work, _here_.

~~

The killings kept going after Newt failed to arrest Minho, but they started moving around. The first crossed out of New York, the second crossed state border and suddenly the case was taken out if Newt’s hands by the FBI before he could muster up the courage to give it up himself.

Obsessively, he followed the investigation on the news. They had Minho’s name, his picture, but that was also about it. The pattern that had built up was demolished, the connection to Newt was broken. Surprisingly, it was written off as a cry for attention, and Newt’s name was only kept in the file for potential further questioning, which never occurred.

A year went by, two, and then: nothing. The killings just stopped. As abruptly as they had started, they went from once every couple weeks, to not a single one in three months. Then four months. Then half a year, then a year, and then they never resurfaced. Robin Hood was gone.

The hype around him died down. Soon enough, Newt didn’t have to see Robin Hood’s face on the news or think about him at all.

However, he never could stop thinking about Minho.

~~

Newt—despite his better judgement—signs the employment papers and takes the job without question.

~~

They’re formally introduced the next day, Friday, in a quickly prompted assembly and they both pretend they don’t know each other. Newt has been awake all night, trying to figure out how to deal with the situation and when he stands in front of him now, he still doesn’t know.

“Minho Sung,” Minho says. He’s so stupid he didn’t even change his first name, Newt thinks. Minho’s voice is rougher and somehow more gentle than Newt remembers it. It makes Newt’s head spin and when he reaches out and shakes Newt’s hand, the touch gives Newt goosebumps all over his body. He can’t tell if they’re good or bad.

“Newt Parker,” he responds, voice hoarse and Minho’s slightly pinched face smoothes out.

“Good to have you on board. I hope you’ll like it here.”

“I hope so, too,” Newt says and then Duncan drags him off to meet someone else. But Newt feels his gaze compulsively drags back to Minho across the room, over and over and over, like it did those times in _Anywhere_ when Minho didn’t come up to him. Newt wishes they could _be_ anywhere _else_ than right here. He wants to talk. More than anything, he wants them to have been happily together for the past decade, but just talking seems a fair start when they haven’t even seen each other since the day Newt admitted to himself that he was in love with him.

Afterwards, Newt finds his way to his new office and Duncan flies past just to yell that if he needs something to holler at him. Newt needs coffee and aspirin. He didn’t bring any medication, so coffee will have to do for now.

These people either drink a lot of coffee before work or they don’t drink coffee at all (Newt thinks they’re weird either way) because the pot stands cold and empty when he gets into the break room. He fixes with it, rinsing it out and opening just about every cabinet to find the grounds and filters.

He has just pressed the start button as he hears someone come to a stop at the door. “Hi.”

Newt stills. Knows it’s him because he could recognize his voice in a sea of others. He swallows and looks up. “Hey.”

Minho has his hands in his pockets, leaning against the door frame and he has the audacity to _not_ look nervous while Newt feels like anyone who watches him can see that his heart beats faster than possible, that his body shakes. It’s not even anxiety. He doesn’t have it as much anymore, a couple rounds of really great therapy has ridden him of most of it. No. This is… anticipation. And he feels terrible that he _doesn’t_ feel terrible.

“I hear you came over from the States?” Minho says.

“I heard you did, too.”

“A couple years ago.”

“And before then?”

“New York, originally. Moved around a lot, couldn’t get… the right footing. Changed careers. Came here.”

Newt looks at him. Really looks, and he finds that Minho looks almost contempt. He has probably understood that Newt wants to talk before doing anything else since he’s still there without handcuffs and what not. Newt fully hadn’t expected to find himself in this scenario, and he feels like maybe he hasn’t actually caught up to the fact that he _is_ yet.

“We should talk,” Minho says. “You know, get to know each other better, since we’re going to be working together.”

Newt doesn’t know if that’ll make things better or more difficult. “Sounds reasonable,” he says in any case.

“I know where they have the best pancakes in town?”

“Is it still Ben’s?”

Minho smiles. “Yeah, it’s still Ben’s. My treat, after work?”

Newt nods. “Okay.”

Minho nods back. “Meet you out in the foyer at five?”

~~

Newt barely remembers the day. Not just because of everything with Minho, but because it’s intensely informative and full of challenges.

Things really only trickle down just before five, so he doesn’t have time to be nervous for more than a minute before he’s standing in the foyer, and Minho joins him.

“You ready?”

Newt looks at him and thinks he couldn’t be more unprepared. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Minho leads the way and seats them at Ben’s. They talk about nothing as they order and eats, and It’s clear that they both know it. They know that it’s not going to be like this forever, but it’s nice to pretend that the biggest topics they’ll handle are such as whether the States or the Isles have the best pancakes. It’s not exactly stilted, but Newt can feel how they’re approaching the real questions and the truth sooner rather than later.

The meal is finished before they quiet down. Then, Newt sits and plays with his fork until he can’t handle the silence. “Let's get some air?” he suggests and pushes his chair out before Minho can respond. They go out, and Newt finds himself stopping at the railing, just holding onto it. The place is located by a field, and they look out over it in further silence. The air, however, feels terribly less charged.

“D’you smoke?” Minho asks and Newt can hear him almost trip over the word “still.” Newt doesn’t answer, just takes a cigarette from the packet offered and puts it between his lips. He only smokes on the rare occasion, and this definitely calls for it. Minho lights up for him, the flame flickering in his eyes. Minho looks away again. Newt lets the nicotine get to his head and watches Minho as he puffs on his own cigarette.

Newt guesses it’s time and takes a breath to say, “I thought they’d find you in Philly.”

The statements makes Minho tear his gaze from the ground, and they share a look that conveys more than if Newt would’ve tried to say it out loud.

 _You did that?_ Minho doesn’t ask.

And Newt looks him in the eye, remembers the note he slipped Teresa anonymously. _Yes._

“You and me both,” Minho whispers and Newt nods, looks away before he’s captured in Minho’s eyes forever.

~~

Minho asks, “Do you ever regret it?” when they aimlessly start wandering through town, the sun setting behind them. _Do you regret letting me escape?_ is what he asks, but all Newt can think is that it’s not that part that he regrets.

“Sometimes I regret I didn’t come with you.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but lies or keeping the truth a secret doesn’t feel like an option now when they… Well, when they've gotten a chance to talk. “Sometimes I sit and just wish I had gone with you, gone completely rogue. Left everyone and everything because you were the only one I wanted to be with anyhow. I wish I had let myself be free like that. With you.”

Minho walks beside him, not responding for a long time. Newt doesn’t look at him. “You did the right thing, Newt.” And there’s no lie lacing those words. There’s sadness like he wishes they could’ve done that without it being a bad thing, but he knows as well as Newt that it wasn’t written in their stars. “Not running away with me, it was the right thing to do.”

Newt kicks his foot into the ground and sniffs. “Right isn’t always what you need.”

Minho grunts as if he doesn’t agree, but still can’t contradict him.

“Did you place it?” Newt asks.

Minho looks confused. “What?”

“Your DNA,” Newt clarifies. “Did you place it?”  

It has been the biggest question, the one question he has settled on to be the one he’d ask if he only got one. Despite that the fact that Newt _knows_ that he did. Ever since he saw Minho’s face on Thomas’ screen, he’s been absolutely certain—and he was pretty sure already before that—that he left his DNA on purpose. But when Minho’s expression goes soft and he says “otherwise they would’ve convicted _you_ ” like it’s the most obvious thing, Newt still can’t breathe.

“Fucking _hell_ , Minho,” he says and drags a hand over his face.

“I couldn’t let that happen. Not when I was… me, and you were you, and we were _we_.”

 _We,_ Newt thinks, he wants them back. And he wants Minho to not be Robin Hood so this could be easy.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” Newt says, “and then I saw you every day for months. Your picture was _everywhere._ And then you disappeared, and so did your face. And I didn’t see you again.”

“And now, here I am.”

“Now, here you are.”

“Did you miss me?” Minho asks it as a joke.

Newt answers it honestly. “Every goddamn day.”

Minho looks baffled, almost like he doesn’t understand just how deep Newt’s feelings for him are settled. He nods, biting his lip and then he reaches forward. He takes Newt’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers slowly and hesitantly but as Newt doesn’t pull away, Minho clasps his hand like Newt might disappear if he lets go. Newt presses back and closes his eyes, forgets for a second what year it is, what has happened, what he knows; he’s back in 2015, he’s back in the States, he’s back with the man he’s not yet admitted to himself that he loves. The breath that escapes him is ragged and when he opens his eyes again Minho is already watching him. Evaluating, waiting. His hair is different, longer, lighter, his face is older but he’s just in his lower thirties and Newt just thinks he looks better than he ever has.

“Let’s get out of here,” Minho says. “Come to mine?”

Newt can’t tell him no.

~~

Minho still holds his hand when they sit down on his couch.

Newt doesn’t remember the last time someone held his hand, and it makes him want to throw up. Holding Minho feels like holding onto life itself, and he doesn’t even know if that’s a good or a bad feeling.

“How you been?” Minho asks. It feels loaded, full of could haves and happened insteads.

It’s been a whirlwind of long years. Newt thinks it’s best to start with the most prominent. “I got married.” He laughs because it’s not funny. Minho doesn't say anything, so Newt just continues. “Four years ago and he… He was good to me.” Snorting, he adds, “God knows why.”

Minho shuffles a little. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“What?”

“Just… Like you don’t deserve love.” He looks up and Newt cocks his head.

“I did nothing good to that man; I drowned myself in work, I drank too much, slept too little, argued about everything, I didn’t put myself out there. I was a fucking mess.”

“But he loves you?” Minho presses.

“Think he did. For a while.”

“But you got married?”

Newt snorts. “Yeah, _and_ a divorce.” He holds his other hand up, shows his non-ringed finger. He pretends not to see the relief that washes over Minho’s face at that. It wouldn't have mattered. Newt could’ve been married for three decades and he would’ve still followed Minho to do this, have this.

~~

“Thirty-seven.”

It’s Minho’s confession. Newt is surprised when he doesn't react at all to the statement, although to his defense, he did know from the last report he’d heard that Hood had toed over the thirty-mark. “I don’t remember their names. I don’t care to either.” It’s honest and raw and Newt can somehow tell it’s been awhile since anyone died by Minho’s hands. He feels settled, and like Newt had noted before, purposely so, but it has nothing to do with the purpose he once had. He’s found it in this job, in helping, in caring, in loving. He’s found it in the same way that Newt once looked at his own job as a detective, in the way of doing honest work while helping as much as you possibly could. Newt is very glad that Minho didn’t start _here_ and evolved into a murdering vigilante but has instead found peace with this.

Newt would like to read "The Handbook For Dealing With Your (Retired) Serial-Killer Ex When He Appears Back Into Your Life And You Still Love Him.” Maybe, when all this is over, he should write it himself. All he can do now, is deal with it.

And he’s only a man, a man that hasn’t felt love or at peace or truly happy in ten years, so he does the only thing his starved self can think of.  He shoots forward, clasps Minho’s face in his hands, and presses their mouths together; desperate, demanding, definite. In this moment, he doesn’t care about death and blood; he cares only for the kiss which Minho reciprocates. Arms around Newt’s torso, Minho sweeps him in, presses him to himself and holds on like Newt might leave if he doesn’t. The secret is: Newt isn’t going anywhere.

“I’ve missed you,” Minho gasps against his skin, “fuck, you have no idea how _much_ I’ve missed you.”

Newt only mumbles yeses and me too:s, trying put all of ten years worth of longing into one never-ending kiss. He feels like he has long been deprived of a necessity when Minho sneaks his fingers underneath the hem of Newt’s shirt and the tips of his fingers touch his skin. Newt whines and Minho catches the sound between his teeth. It’s sure and desperate when they reach for each other, unzipping and unbuttoning in unison.

Newt cuts off Minho’s “are you sure?” by taking his cock in hand, tugging slowly, and Minho forces back a surprised moan. Newt just wants him, doesn’t want them to talk anymore.

They get off in no time on the couch. Newt barely has time to catch his breath before Minho drags him up and into the bedroom, down on the bed, and kisses him earnestly to make him hard and yearning again within minutes.

The second time, they actually get fully undressed. They go slow, steady, and it’s _everything_ sex is supposed to be. It feels good, they laugh, they smile, they moan, they beg, they can’t stop kissing, and when Minho pushes himself into Newt after prepping him for an eternity, it’s perfect. Newt sobs and Minho holds his face, kisses him, and thrusts slowly until they’re both practically shaking. Newt wishes they never have to be anywhere but here, in this very moment.

~~

He wakes with a mental jolt; physically he just springs his eyes open.

There are fingers in his hair, twisting and raking, smoothing and scratching, and it takes a second before he realises that it’s Minho’s hand. Then he takes a deep breath like he hasn’t been able to breathe for a long, long time and Minho turns his gaze towards him just as Newt’s eyelids slide shut again.

“I like seeing you like this,” Minho says, voice barely holding although it’s so quiet. Newt only raises his brows in a confused question, too tired to open them again.  “Sleepy, waking up.”

“Why?” Newt asks and finds the word sounding thick.

“It means you’ve actually slept.”

~~

Newt wakes up the second time slowly and when he flutters his eyes open, Minho is already looking at him. His body feels heavy with sleep but there is something light in his chest, if only for a minute, because of those familiar eyes looking back at him.

“Morning, Hot Stuff,” he says quietly and Minho’s whole face turns into a sappy smile.

“Morning, sunshine,” he replies. They turn quiet, the momentary joy sweeps away and they stare into nothing. Newt picks at the nail of his index finger.

“Time is it?

Minho shrugs a little. “Ten,” he says.

“And when d’we go to sleep?” Newt gives him a glance.

“Dunno, two? Three?”

Newt nods, a gesture that would’ve basically not been visible if there wasn’t for the fact that he is the only thing in the room that moves and that Minho is once again watching him. There is only time for him to think that it was a long time since he slept that long before he is once again in slumber.

~~

The last time he wakes up it is because Minho is crying.

“Hey,” Newt says and scoots forward.

“Fuck,” Minho says, scooting away and wipes at his face. “Newt, don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Newt promises and puts his hand on top of Minho’s arm. Minho tries to shrug him off, telling him “no, it's not,” and Newt is confused for a second while Minho just sobs harder.

“This is not-” he starts but he can’t finish because of another sob and Newt makes it his mission to get Minho’s hands out of his face.

“Hey,” he says again. “Hey, hey! Minho. _Minho_.” And finally he gets his own hands around Minho’s chin, his face exposed, and Newt leans over to press his lips Minho’s. There’s no heat, no desire in the kiss; it’s a statement, it’s: _I’m here_. Minho’s body goes rigid for the duration of it and then he just… lets go. He cries harder, louder, more, and he moves so he can hold onto Newt like Newt might save his life if he just holds him long enough. Newt holds on, lets Minho cry in the crook of his neck and he runs his hands over Minho’s back and in his hair, presses him close with his legs and upper arms. It doesn’t matter how long they stay like that. What matters, is that when Minho finally calms down, they still do not let each other go.

~~

Almost whispering in the late Saturday morning, they catch up.

Minho doesn’t tell Newt about the killings themselves, but they both shamelessly talk about everything surrounding them. Newt says he thought he had a stalker. Minho says he hasn’t felt so guilty in his life as when he killed someone just after Newt came out of a depressive episode. Newt says he did to a certain degree, feel like Robin Hood did the world a favour. Minho says he knew who Newt was before meeting him, but that he had never intended to ever even introduce himself. It’s one of the things that shakes Newt the most. He guesses that it makes more sense that Minho knew who he was, but it makes him feel like the optimal use of “keep your enemies closer.” That Minho maybe never actually loved him. But Newt just has to suit himself in that case, because he chose to let Minho go without Minho even asking him to. It all leads up too...

“Why are you here? In Scotland, in my town?”

Minho snuggles in closer and speaks into Newt’s neck. “It was the only place outside of the States that I thought maybe I could get to see you again.” The chance, Newt feels, must’ve been a small one, and yet... “I missed your voice and this was the only place I thought to go. They all sound just like you, Newt. They all sound like you. So, once I got here, I just… I had to stay. I felt like I’d come… _home_.”

Newt doesn’t exactly believe in soulmates. But lying here, Minho in his arms, feeling calm and collected, warm, safe… happy, Newt wonders if maybe they were, in some fucked up yet simple way, made for each other.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Minho says then. “With me, I mean. Why… Why are you?”

Newt has a million reasons to leave, to go, do something, call someone, to do just about a million things as well. Not a single sign from Minho demands him to stay here, to stay quiet. There isn’t even a plea of it; Minho only wants what’s best for Newt, and if Newt doesn’t want him in, Newt’s sure Minho will honor that. Minho will, now, take his punishment. He will do that _for_ Newt if Newt chooses to.

Newt should. He should’ve done it already. He should so much that it feels like he cannot breathe, but he can’t. He can’t. He doesn’t _want to._ He wants this, them, Minho, love. He fucking wants _love,_ damn it.

“I love you,” he answers. He hasn’t said that to someone in his entire adult life. Not even to his motherfucking _husband,_ but to Minho, now, it’s easy. “I don’t even know if I know you, not anymore, not now, maybe not ever did, but I do. All consuming, forever. I love you. That’s why I’m here.”

Minho stares at him without saying anything. He looks like he has forgotten how to speak. Newt doesn’t do anything but look back. Whatever Minho answers will decide what he’ll do. Because there are so many answers that will harshly jolt Newt out of this mindset, and only one thing that will keep him in it.

Finally, Minho opens his mouth. “No, Newt, you can’t ignore what I did. Not again. I have run away from it, pushed it out of my mind, pretended none of it ever happened, for so long. I’m ready. And even if I wouldn’t be, I couldn’t ask you to pretend that things are fine, that I’m not… what I am. You deserve better. I wish I could give you better.”

That wasn’t the answer Newt had hoped he’d be given. Yet somehow, this is better. “I love you,” he says again. “And I don’t give a flying _fuck_ that you’re ready to go to prison because I’m _not_ putting the love of my life there.”

Minho’s face twists with guilt. “Newt-”

“No. If you want to turn yourself in, be my guest, but I rather you stay here, with me, paying your penance by helping these kids, and—on a more selfish note—love me back until I die.”

“I can’t do that to you. I can’t-”

Newt reaches for his hand and squeezes tight. “I have not been happy since I was with you. Please, Minho, stay. Be happy with me.”

Minho shakes his head. “This is all wrong. Why are you begging _me_ to stay? I… I’m the one who should be begging.”

“And because you aren't, that’s why I know you really do love me, too.” Newt smiles at him.  

And Minho helplessly smiles back. “That’s… Yeah, of course, I love you. Of course. I have loved you since our first weekend together. I never stopped.”

“So, stay with me.”

There’s a pause before he asks, “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” And Newt can see the million reasons to go painted in the lines of Minho’s face, but he knows that the one _he_ needs to stay, is the one Newt has just given him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and don't forget to follow the [AO3 Minewt feed](https://ao3feed-minewt.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


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